1 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GUT  OF 

Professor 

George  R.  Stewart 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fromportusonnetsOObrowrich 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE 
BY  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING 


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TABLE  OF  FIRST  LINES 

SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE 

I  thought  once  how  Theocritus  had  sung  7 

But  only  three  in  all  God's  universe  8 

Unlike  are  we,  unlike,  O  princely  Heart !  9 

Thou  hast  thy  calling  to  some  palace  floor  JO 

I  lift  my  heavy  heart  up  solemnly  J  J 

Go  from  me.  Yet  I  feel  that  I  shall  stand  12 

The  face  of  all  the  world  is  changed,  I  think  i  3 

What  can  I  give  thee  back,  O  liberal  J4 

Can  it  be  right  to  give  what  I  can  give  ?  15 

Yet  love,  mere  love,  is  beautiful  indeed  J 6 

And  therefore  if  to  love  can  be  desert  J  7 

Indeed  this  very  love  which  is  my  boast  18 

And  wilt  thou  have  me  fashion  into  speech  J  9 

If  thou  must  love  me,  let  it  be  for  nought  20 

Accuse  me  not,  beseech  thee,  that  I  wear  21 

And  yet  because  thou  overcomest  so  22 

My  poet,  thou  canst  touch  on  all  the  notes  23 

I  never  gave  a  lock  of  hair  away  24 

The  soul's  Rialto  hath  its  merchandise  25 

Beloved,  my  Beloved,  when  I  think  26 

Say  over  again  and  yet  once  over  again  27 
When  our  two  souls  stand  up  erect  and  strong  28 

Is  it  indeed  so  ?  If  I  lay  here  dead  29 
Let  the  world's  sharpness  like  a  clasping  knife  30 

A  heavy  heart,  Beloved,  have  I  borne  3  J 

I  lived  with  visions  for  my  company  32 
iii 


My  own  Beloved,  who  hast  lifted  me  33 

My  letters !  all  dead  paper,— mute  and  white !  34 
I  think  of  thee ! — my  thoughts  do  twine  and  bud  35 
I  see  thy  image  through  my  tears  to-night  36 
Thou  comest !  all  is  said  without  a  word  37 

The  first  time  that  the  sun  rose  on  thine  oath  38 
Yes,  call  me  by  my  pet  name !  let  me  hear  39 

With  the  same  heart,  I  said,  I  '11  answer  thee  40 
If  I  leave  all  for  thee,  wilt  thou  exchange  4 J 

When  we  met  first  and  loved  I  did  not  build        42 
Pardon,  oh,  pardon,  that  my  soul  should  make  43 
First  time  he  kissed  me,  he  but  only  kissed        44 
Because  thou  hast  the  power  and  own'st  the 
grace  45 

Oh,  yes !  they  love  through  all  this  world  of 
ours!  46 

I  thank  all  who  have  loved  me  in  their  hearts  47 
My  future  will  not  copy  fair  my  past —  48 

How  do  I  love  thee  ?  Let  me  count  the  ways  49 
Beloved,  thou  hast  brought  me  many  flowers   50 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE 

THOUGHT  once 
how  Theocritus  had 
sung 

Of  the  sweet  years, 
the  dear  and  wished 
for  years, 

Who  each  one  in  agra- 
cious  hand  appears 
To  bear  a  gift  for  mor- 
tals, old  or  young: 
And,  as  I  mused  it  in 
is  antique  tongue, 
I  saw,  in  gradual  vision  through  my  tears, 
The  sweet,  sad  years,  the  melancholy  years, 
Those  of  my  own  lif  e,who  by  turns  had  flung 
A  shadow  across  me.  Straightway  I  was  'ware, 
So  weeping,  how  a  mystic  Shape  did  move 
Behind  me,  and  drew  me  backward  by  the  hair ; 
And  a  voice  said  in  mastery  while  I  strove : — 
"Guess  now  who  holds  thee?'* — "  Death,"  I  said. 
But  there 
The  silver  answer  rang:  "Not  Death,  but  Love.' 


II 

UT  only  three  in  all  God's 
universe 

Have  heard  this  word  thou 
hast  said,— Himself ,  beside 
Thee  speaking  and  me  lis- 
tening! and  replied 
One  of  us— that  was  God! 

-and  laid  the  curse 
So  darkly  on  my  eyelids  as 
to  amerce 

My  sight  from  seeing  thee, — that  if  I  had  died, 
The  deathweights  placed  there  would  have  signified 
Less  absolute  exclusion.  "  Nay  "  is  worse 
From  God  than  from  all  others,  O  my  friend ! 
Men  could  not  part  us  with  their  worldly  jars. 
Nor  the  seas  change  us,  nor  the  tempests  bend: 
Our  hands  would  touch  for  all  the  mountain-bars: 
And,  heaven  being  rolled  between  us  at  the  end, 
We  should  but  vow  the  faster  for  the  stars. 


Ill 

?^NLIKE  are  we,  unlike, 
O  princely  Heart ! 
Unlike  our  uses  and  our 
destinies. 

Our  ministering  two  an- 
gels look  surprise 
On  one  another,  as  they 
strike  athwart 
Their  wings  in  passing. 
Thou,  bethink  thee,  art 
A  guest  for  queens  to  social  pageantries. 
With  gazes  from  a  hundred  brighter  eyes 
Than  tears  even  can  make  mine,  to  ply  thy  part 
Of  chief  musician.  What  hast  thou  to  do 
With  looking  from  the  lattice-lights  at  me, 
A  poor,  tired,  wandering  singer, — singing  through 
The  dark,  and  leaning  up  a  cypress  tree? 
The  chrism  is  on  thine  head, — on  mine,the  dew, — 
And  Death  must  dig  the  level  where  these  agree. 


IV 

HOU  hast  thy  calling  to 
some  palace  floor, 
Most  gracious  singer  of 
high  poems!  where 
The  dancers  will  break 
footing  from  the  care 
Of  watching  up  thy  preg- 
nant lips  for  more, 
And  dost  thou  lift  this 
house's  latch  too  poor 
For  hand  of  thine?  and  canst  thou  think  and  bear 
To  let  thy  music  drop  here  unaware 
In  folds  of  golden  fulness  at  my  door? 
Look  up  and  see  the  casement  broken  in. 
The  bats  and  owlets  builders  in  the  roof! 
My  cricket  chirps  against  thy  mandolin. 
Hush !  call  no  echo  up  in  further  proof 
Of  desolation !  there 's  a  voice  within 
That  weeps  as — thou  must  sing — alone,  aloof. 


10 


V 

LIFT  my  heavy  heart 
up  solemnly, 
As  once  Electra  her  se- 
pulchral urn, 
And,  looking  in  thine 
eyes,  I  overturn 
The  ashes  at  thy  feet. 
Behold  and  see 
What  a  great  heap  of 
grief  lay  hid  in  me. 
And  how  the  red  wild  sparkles  dimly  burn 
Through  the  ashen  grayness.  If  thy  foot  in  scorn 
Could  tread  them  out  to  darkness  utterly, 
It  might  be  well  perhaps.  But  if  instead 
Thou  wait  beside  me  for  the  wind  to  blow 
The  gray  dust  up — those  laurels  on  thine  head, 
O  my  Beloved,  will  not  shield  thee  so. 
That  none  of  all  the  fires  shall  scorch  and  shred 
The  hair  beneath.  Stand  farther  off  then !  Go. 


n 


VI 

O  from  me.  Yet  I  feel 
that  I  shall  stand 
Henceforth  in  thy  sha- 
dow. Nevermore 
Alone  upon  the  threshold 
of  my  door 

Of  individual  life,  I  shall 
command 

The  uses  of  my  soul,  nor 
lift  my  hand 
Serenely  in  the  sunshine  as  before. 
Without  the  sense  of  that  which  I  forbore  — 
Thy  touch  upon  the  palm.  The  widest  land 
Doom  takes  to  part  us,  leaves  thy  heart  in  mine 
With  pulses  that  beat  double.  What  I  do 
And  what  I  dream  include  thee,  as  the  wine 
Must  taste  of  its  own  grapes.  And  when  I  sue 
God  for  myself.  He  hears  that  name  of  thine, 
And  sees  within  my  eyes  the  tears  of  two. 


12 


VII 

HE  face  of  all  the  world 
is  changed,  I  think, 
Since  first  I  heard  the 
footsteps  of  thy  soul 
Move  still,  oh,  still,  beside 
me  as  they  stole 
Betwixt  me  and  the 
dreadful  outer  brink 
Of  obvious  death,  where 
I  who  thought  to  sink 
Was  caught  up  into  love,  and  taught  the  whole 
Of  life  in  a  new  rhythm.  The  cup  of  dole 
God  gave  for  baptism,  I  am  fain  to  drink, 
And  praise  its  sweetness.  Sweet,  with  thee  anear. 
The  name  of  country,  heaven,  are  changed  away 
For  where  thou  art  or  shalt  be,  there  or  here ; 
And  this — this  lute  and  song — loved  yesterday, 
(The  singing  angels  know)  are  only  dear. 
Because  thy  name  moves  right  in  what  they  say. 


13 


VIII 

HAT  can  I  give  thee 
back,  O  liberal 
Andprincelygiver,-who 
hast  brought  the  gold 
And  purple  of  thineheart, 
unstained,  untold. 
And  laid  them  on  the  out- 
side of  the  wall 
For  such  as  I  to  take  or 
leave  withal. 
In  unexpected  largesse?  Am  I  cold, 
Ungrateful,  that  for  these  most  manifold 
High  gifts,  I  render  nothing  back  at  all? 
Not  so ;  not  cold — but  very  poor  instead ! 
Ask  God  who  knows !  for  frequent  tears  have  run 
The  colours  from  my  life,  and  left  so  dead 
And  pale  a  stuff,  it  were  not  fitly  done 
To  give  the  same  as  pillow  to  thy  head. 
Go  farther !  let  it  serve  to  trample  on. 


U 


IX 

AN  it  be  right  to  give 
what  I  can  give? 
To  let  thee  sit  beneath 
I  the  fall  of  tears 
As  salt  as  mine,  and  hear 
I  the  sighing  years 
Re-sighing  on  my  lips 
I  renunciative 
I  Through  those  infrequent 
smiles  which  fail  to  live 
For  all  thy  adjurations?  O  my  fears, 
That  this  can  scarce  be  right!  We  are  not  peers, 
So  to  be  lovers ;  and  I  own  and  grieve 
That  givers  of  such  gifts  as  mine  are,  must 
Be  counted  with  the  ungenerous.  Out,  alas ! 
I  will  not  soil  thy  purple  with  my  dust. 
Nor  breathe  my  poison  on  thy  Venice-glass, 
Nor  give  thee  any  love — which  were  unjust. 
Beloved,  I  only  love  thee !  let  it  pass. 


15 


ET  love,  mere  love,  is 
beautiful  indeed 
And  worthy  of  accepta- 
tion. Fire  is  bright, 
Let  temple  burn,  or  flax ; 
an  equal  light 
Leaps  in  the  flame  from 
cedar-plank  or  weed : 
And  love  is  fire.  And 
when  I  say  at  need 
I  love  thee— mark— I  love  thee !— in  thy  sight 
I  stand  transfigured,  glorified  aright, 
With  conscience  of  the  new  rays  that  proceed 
Out  of  my  face  toward  thine.  There 's  nothinglow 
In  love,  when  love  the  lowest :  meanest  creatures 
Who  love  God,  God  accepts  while  loving  so. 
And  what  I  feel,  across  the  inferior  features 
Of  what  I  am,  doth  flash  itself,  and  show 
How  that  great  work  of  Love  enhances  Nature's. 


t6 


XI 

ND  therefore  if  to  love 
can  be  desert, 
I  am  not  all  unworthy. 
Cheeks  as  pale 
Asthese  you  see,  and  trem- 
bling knees  that  fail 
To  bear  the  burden  of  a 
heavy  heart. 
This  weary  minstrel-life 
that  once  was  girt 
To  climb  Aornus,  and  can  scarce  avail 
To  pipe  now  'gainst  the  valley  nightingale 
A  melancholy  music, — why  advert 
To  these  things  ?  O  Beloved,  it  is  plain 
I  am  not  of  thy  worth  nor  for  thy  place ! 
And  yet,  because  I  love  thee,  I  obtain 
From  that  same  love  this  vindicating  grace  ^ 
To  live  on  still  in  love,  and  yet  in  vain. 
To  bless  thee,  yet  renounce  thee  to  thy  face. 


17 


XII 

NDEED  this  very  love 
which  is  my  boast, 
And  which,  when  rising 
up  from  breast  to  brow, 
Doth  crown  me  with  a 
ruby  large  enow 
To  draw  men's  eyes  and 
prove  the  inner  cost — 
This  love  even,  all  my 
worth,  to  the  uttermost, 
I  should  not  love  withal,  unless  that  thou 
Hadst  set  me  an  example,  shown  me  how. 
When  first  thine  earnest  eyes  with  mine  were 
crossed, 

And  love  called  love.  And  thus  I  cannot  speak 
Of  love  even  as  a  good  thing  of  my  own. 
Thy  soul  hath  snatched  up  mine  all  faint  and 
weak, 

And  placed  it  by  thee  on  a  golden  throne, — 
And  that  I  love,  (O  soul,  I  must  be  meek !) 
Is  by  thee  only,  whom  I  love  alone. 


18 


XIII 

ND  wilt  thou  have  me 
fashion  into  speech 
The  love  I  bear  thee, find- 
ing words  enough, 
And  hold  the  torch  out, 
while  the  winds  are  rough, 
Between  our  faces  to  cast 
light  on  each? — 
I  drop  it  at  thy  feet.  I  can- 
not teach 
My  hand  to  hold  my  spirit  so  far  off 
From  myself — me — that  I  should  bring  thee 
proof 

In  words,  of  love  hid  in  me  out  of  reach. 
Nay,  let  the  silence  of  my  womanhood 
Commend  my  woman-love  to  thy  belief, — 
Seeing  that  I  stand  unwon,  however  wooed. 
And  rend  the  garment  of  my  life,  in  brief. 
By  a  most  dauntless,  voiceless  fortitude. 
Lest  one  touch  of  this  heart  convey  its  grief. 


I»S 


XIV 

F  thou  must  love  me,  let 
it  be  for  nought 
Except  for  love's  sake 
only.  Do  not  say, 
*  *  I  love  her  for  her  smile— 
her  look — her  way 
Of  speaking  gently, — for 
a  trick  of  thought 
That  falls  in  well  with 
mine,  and  certes  brought 
A  sense  of  pleasant  ease  on  such  a  day," — 
For  these  things  in  themselves,  Beloved,  may 
Be  changed,  or  change  for  thee, — and  love  so 
wrought 

May  be  unwrought  so.  Neither  love  me  for 
Thine  own  dear  pity's  wiping  my  cheeks  dry: 
A  creature  might  forget  to  weep,  who  bore 
Thy  comfort  long,  and  lose  thy  love  thereby. 
But  love  me  for  love's  sake,  that  evermore 
Thou  mayst  love  on  through  love's  eternity. 


20 


XV 
CCUSE  me  not,  beseech 
thee,  that  I  wear 
Too  calm  and  sad  a  face 
in  front  of  thine; 
For  we  two  look  two 
ways,  and  cannot  shine 
With  the  same  sunlight 
on  our  brow  and  hair. 
On  me  thou  lookest  with 
Jno  doubting  care, 
As  on  a  bee  shut  in  a  crystalline ; 
For  sorrow  hath  shut  me  safe  in  love's  divine, 
And  to  spread  wing  and  fly  in  the  outer  air 
Were  most  impossible  failure,  if  I  strove 
To  fail  so.  But  I  look  on  thee— on  thee— 
Beholding,  besides  love,  the  end  of  love. 
Hearing  oblivion  beyond  memory ; 
As  one  who  sits  and  gazes  from  above, 
Over  the  rivers  to  the  bitter  sea. 


2i 


XVI 

ND  yet,  because  thou 
overcomest  so, 
Because  thou  art  noble 
and  like  a  king, 
Thou  canst  prevail  against 
my  fears  and  fling 
Thy  purple  round  me,  till 
my  heart  shall  grow 
Too  close  against  thine 
heart  hencef oth  to  know 
How  it  shook  when  alone.  Why,  conquering 
May  prove  as  lordly  and  complete  a  thing 
In  lifting  upward  as  in  crushing  low! 
And  as  a  vanquished  soldier  yields  his  sword 
To  one  who  lifts  him  from  the  bloody  earth, 
Even  so,  Beloved,  I  at  last  record. 
Here  ends  my  strife.  If  thou  invite  me  forth, 
I  rise  above  abasement  at  the  word. 
Make  thy  love  larger  to  enlarge  my  worth. 


22 


XVII 

Y  poet,  thou  canst  touch 
on  all  the  notes 
God  set  between  his 
After  and  Before, 
And  strike  up  and  strike 
off  the  general  roar 
Of  the  rushing  worlds  a 
melody  that  floats 
In  a  serene  air  purely. 
Antidotes 
Of  medicated  music,  answering  for 
Mankind's  f  orlornest  uses,  thou  canst  pour 
From  thence  into  their  ears.  God's  will  devotes 
Thine  to  such  ends,  and  mine  to  wait  on  thine ! 
How,  Dearest,  wilt  thou  have  me  for  most  use  ? 
A  hope,  to  sing  by  gladly?  or  a  fine 
Sad  memory,  with  thy  songs  to  interfuse  ? 
A  shade  in  which  to  sing — of  palm  or  pine? 
A  grave  on  which  to  rest  from  singing?  Choose. 


23 


XVIII 

NEVER  gave  a  lock  of 
hair  away 

To  a  man,  Dearest,  ex- 
cept this  to  thee. 
Which  now  upon  my  fin- 
gers thoughtfully 
I  ring  out  to  the  full 
brown  length,  and  say: 
"Take  it.''  My  day  of 
youth  went  yesterday; 
My  hair  no  longer  bounds  to  my  foot's  glee, 
Nor  plant  I  it  from  rose  or  myrtle-tree. 
As  girls  do,  any  more :  it  only  may 
Now  shade  on  two  pale  cheeks,  the  mark  of  tears, 
Taught  drooping  from  the  head  that  hangs  aside 
Through  sorrow's  trick.  I  thought  the  funeral- 
shears 

Would  take  this  first,  but  Love  is  justified : 
Take  it  thou, — finding  pure,  from  all  those  years. 
The  kiss  my  mother  left  here  when  she  died. 


24 


XIX 

[HE  soul's  Rialto  hath  its 
I  merchandise; 
I  barter  curl  for  curl 
j  upon  that  mart, 
And  from  my  poet's  fore- 
I  head  to  my  heart 
Receive  this  lock  which 
outweighs  argosies, — 
As  purply  black,  as  erst 
to  Pindar's  eyes 
The  dim  purpureal  tresses  gloomed  athwart 
The  nine  white  Muse-brows.  For  this  counter- 
part, 

The  bay-crown's  shade.  Beloved,  I  surmise. 
Still  lingers  on  thy  curl,  it  is  so  black ! 
Thus,  with  a  fillet  of  smooth-kissing  breath, 
I  tie  the  shadow  safe  from  gliding  back. 
And  lay  the  gift  where  nothing  hindereth. 
Here  on  my  heart  as  on  thy  brow,  to  lack 
No  natural  heat  till  mine  grows  cold  in  death. 


25 


XX 

ELO  VED,  my  Beloved, 
when  I  think 
That  thou  wast  in  the 
world  a  year  ago, 
What  time  I  sate  alone 
here  in  the  snow 
And  saw  no  footprint, 
heard  the  silence  sink 
No  moment  at  thy  voice, 
but  link  by  link 
Went  counting  all  my  chains  as  if  that  so 
They  never  could  fall  off  at  any  blow 
Struck  by  thy  possible  hand, — why,  thus  I  drink 
Of  life's  great  cup  of  wonder.  Wonderful, 
Never  to  feel  thee  thrill  the  day  or  night 
With  personal  act  or  speech, — nor  ever  cull 
Some  prescience  of  thee  with  the  blossoms  white 
Thou  sawest  growing!  Atheists  are  as  dull. 
Who  cannot  guess  God's  presence  out  of  sight. 


26 


XXI 

^ AY  over  again  and  yet 
once  over  again 
That  thou  dost  love  me. 
Though  the  word  repeated 
Should  seem  "a  cuckoo- 
song,"  as  thou  dost  treat  it, 
Remember,  never  to  the 
hill  or  plain. 

Valley  and  wood,  without 
her  cuckoo-strain 
Comes  the  fresh  Spring  in  all  her  green  completed ! 
Beloved,  I,  amid  the  darkness  greeted 
By  a  doubtful  spirit- voice,  in  that  doubt's  pain 
Cry,"  Speak  once  more,  thou  lovest ! "  Who  can 
fear 

Too  many  stars,  though  each  in  heaven  shall  roll, 
Too  many  flowers,  though  each  shall  crown  the 
year? 

Say  thou  dost  love  me,  love  me,  love  me — ^toU 
The  silver  iterance! — only  minding.  Dear, 
To  love  me  also  in  silence  with  thy  soul. 


27 


XXII 

HEN  our  two  souls 
stand  up  erect  and  strong, 
Face  to  face,silent,draw- 
ing  nigh  and  nigher, 
Until  the  lengthening 
wings  break  into  fire 
At  either  curved  point, — 
what  bitter  wrong 
Can  the  earth  do  to  us, 
that  we  should  not  long 
Be  here  contented?  Think.  In  mounting  higher, 
The  angels  would  press  on  us,  and  aspire 
To  drop  some  golden  orb  of  perfect  song 
Into  our  deep,  dear  silence.  LrCt  us  stay 
Rather  on  earth.  Beloved, — where  the  unfit 
Contrarious  moods  of  men  recoil  away 
And  isolate  pure  spirits,  and  permit 
A  place  to  stand  and  love  in  for  a  day. 
With  darkness  and  the  death-hour  rounding  it. 


28 


XXIII 

S  it  indeed  so?  If  I  lay 
here  dead 

Wouldst  thou  miss  any 
life  in  losing  mine? 
And  would  the  sun  for 
thee  more  coldly  shine, 
Because  of  grave-damps 
falling  round  my  head  ? 
I  marvelled,  my  Beloved, 
when  I  read 
Thy  thought  so  in  the  letter.  I  am  thine — 
But— so  much  to  thee?  Can  I  pour  thy  wine 
While  my  hands  tremble?  Then  my  soul,  instead 
Of  dreams  of  death,  resumes  life's  lower  range. 
Then,  love  me.  Love!  look  on  me — breathe  onme! 
As  brighter  ladies  do  not  count  it  strange, 
For  love,  to  give  up  acres  and  degree, 
I  yield  the  grave  for  thy  sake,  and  exchange 
My  near  sweet  view  of  Heaven  for  earth  with     ., 
thee! 


29 


XXIV 

j.^^^'lET  the  world's  sharp- 
ness like  a  clasping  knife 
Shut  in  upon  itself  and 
do  no  harm 

In  this  close  hand  of  Love, 
now  soft  and  warm ; 
And  let  us  hear  no  sound 
of  human  strife 
After  the  click  of  the 
shutting.  Life  to  life — 
I  lean  upon  thee,  Dear,  without  alarm, 
And  feel  as  safe  as  guarded  by  a  charm 
Against  the  stab  of  worldlings,  who  if  rife 
Are  weak  to  injure.  Very  whitely  still 
The  lilies  of  our  lives  may  reassure 
Their  blossoms  from  their  roots,  accessible 
Alone  to  heavenly  dews  that  drop  not  fewer; 
Growing  straight,  out  of  man's  reach,  on  the  hill. 
God  only,  who  made  us  rich,  can  make  us  poor. 


30 


XXV 

HEAVY  heart,Beloved, 
have  I  borne 
From  year  to  year  until  I 
saw  thy  face, 
And  sorrow  after  sorrow 
took  the  place 
Of  all  those  natural  joys 
as  lightly  worn 
As  the  stringed  pearls, 
each  lifted  in  its  turn 
By  a  beating  heart  at  dance-time.  Hopes  apace 
Were  changed  to  long  despairs,  till  God*s  own 
grace 

Could  scarcely  lift  above  the  world  forlorn 
My  heavy  heart.  Then  thou  didst  bid  me  bring 
And  let  it  drop  adown  thy  calmly  great 
Deep  being!  Fast  it  sinketh,  as  a  thing 
Which  its  own  nature  doth  precipitate. 
While  thine  doth  close  above  it,  mediating 
Betwixt  the  stars  and  the  unaccomplished  fate. 


31 


XXVI 

LIVED  with  visions  for 
my  company 
Instead  of  men  and 
women,  years  ago, 
And  found  them  gentle 
mates,  nor  thought  to  know 
A  sweeter  music  than 
they  played  to  me. 
But  soon  their  trailing 
purple  was  not  free 
Of  this  world's  dust,  their  lutes  did  silent  grow, 
And  I  myself  grew  faint  and  blind  below 
Their  vanishing  eyes.  Then  THOU  didst  come — 
to  be, 

Beloved,  what  they  seemed.  Their  shining  fronts, 
Their  songs,  their  splendours — better,  yet  the  same, 
As  river- water  hallowed  into  fonts — 
Met  in  thee,  and  from  out  thee  overcame 
My  soul  with  satisfaction  of  all  wants — 
Because  God's  gifts  put  man's  best  dreams  to 
shame. 


32 


XXVII 

Y  own  Beloved,  who 
hast  lifted  me 
From  this  drear  flat  of 
earth  where  I  was  thrown. 
And  in  betwixt  the  lan- 
guid ringlets  blown 
A  life-breath,  till  the 
forehead  hopefully 
Shines  out  again,  as  all 
the  angels  see, 
Before  thy  saving  kiss !  My  own,  my  own. 
Who  earnest  to  me  when  the  world  was  gone, 
And  I  who  looked  for  only  God  found  thee! 
I  find  thee :  I  am  safe,  and  strong,  and  glad. 
As  one  who  stands  in  dewless  asphodel 
Looks  backward  on  the  tedious  time  he  had 
In  the  upper  life, — so  I,  with  bosom-swell. 
Make  witness  here,  between  the  good  and  bad, 
That  Love,  as  strong  as  Death,  retrieves  as  well. 


33 


XXVIII 

JJ  Y  letters !  all  dead  paper, — 
mute  and  white! 
And  yet  they  seem  alive 
and  quivering 
Against  my  tremulous 
hands  whichloosethestring 
And  let  them  drop  down 
on  my  knee  to-night. 
This  said,  he  wished  to 
have  me  in  his  sight 
Once,  as  a  friend ;  this  fixed  a  day  in  spring 
To  come  and  touch  my  hand — a  simple  thing. 
Yet  I  wept  for  it !— this— the  paper  *s  light- 
Said,  Dear,  I  love  thee;  and  I  sank  and  quailed 
As  if  God's  future  thundered  on  my  past. 
This  said,  I  am  thine — and  so  its  ink  has  paled 
With  lying  at  my  heart  that  beat  too  fast; 
And  this— O  Love,  thy  words  have  ill  availed, 
If  what  this  said  I  dared  repeat  at  last! 


34 


XXIX 

THINK  of  thee!— my 
thoughts  do  twine  and  bud 
About  thee,  as  wild  vines  - 
about  a  tree 

Put  out  broad  leaves,  and 
soon  there 's  nought  to  see 
Except  the  straggling  green 
which  hides  the  wood. 
Yet,  O  my  palm-tree,  be 
it  understood 
I  will  not  have  my  thoughts  instead  of  thee 
Who  art  dearer,  better !  Rather  instantly 
Renew  thy  presence ;  as  a  strong  tree  should, 
Rustle  thy  boughs  and  set  thy  trunk  all  bare. 
And  let  these  bands  of  greenery  which  insphere 
thee 

Drop  heavily  down, — burst,  shattered,  every- 
where! 

Because,  in  this  deep  joy  to  see  and  hear  thee 
And  breathe  within  thy  shadow  a  new  air, 
I  do  not  think  of  thee — I  am  too  near  thee. 


35 


XXX 

SEE  thy  image  through 
my  tears  to-night, 
And  yet  to-day  I  saw 
thee  smiling.  How 
Refer  the  cause? — Be- 
loved, is  it  thou 
Or  I?  Who  makes  me 
sad?  The  acolyte 
Amid  the  chanted  joy 
and  thankful  rite 
May  so  fall  flat,  with  pale  insensate  brow. 
On  the  altar-stair.  I  hear  thy  voice  and  vow 
Perplexed,  uncertain,  since  thou  art  out  of  sight, 
As  he,  in  his  swooning  ears,  the  choir's  amen. 
Beloved,  dost  thou  love?  or  did  I  see  all 
The  glory  as  I  dreamed,  and  fainted  when 
Too  vehement  light  dilated  my  ideal 
For  my  soul's  eyes?  Will  that  light  come  again 
As  now  these  tears  come — falling  hot  and  real? 


36 


XXXI 

HOU  comest!  all  is  said 
without  a  word. 
I  sit  beneath  thy  looks,  as 
children  do 

In  the  noon-sun,  with  souls 
that  tremble  through 
Their  happy  eyelids  from 
an  unaverred 
Yet  prodigal  inward  joy. 
Behold,  I  erred 
In  that  last  doubt !  and  yet  I  cannot  rue 
The  sin  most,  but  the  occasion — that  we  two 
Should  for  a  moment  stand  unministered 
By  a  mutual  presence.  Ah,  keep  near  and  close. 
Thou  dovelike  help !  and,  when  my  fears  would 
rise. 

With  thy  broad  heart  serenely  interpose : 
Brood  down  with  thy  divine  sufficiencies 
These  thoughts  which  tremble  when  bereft  of 
those. 
Like  callow  birds  left  desert  to  the  skies. 


i^.  ^^^'^  jt^r^f 

1 

37 


XXXII 

HE  first  time  that  the  sun 
rose  on  thine  oath 
To  love  me,  I  looked  for- 
ward to  the  moon 
To  slacken  all  those  bonds 
which  seemed  too  soon 
And  quickly  tied  to  make 
a  lasting  troth. 
Quick-loving  hearts,  I 
thought,  may  quickly  loathe ; 
And,  looking  on  myself,  I  seemed  not  one 
For  such  man's  love ! — more  like  an  out-of-tune 
Worn  viol,  a  good  singer  would  be  wroth 
To  spoil  his  song  with,  and  which,  snatched  in  haste, 
Is  laid  down  at  the  first  ill-sounding  note. 
I  did  not  wrong  myself  so,  but  I  placed 
A  wrong  on  thee.  For  perfect  strains  may  float 
'Neath  master-hands  from  instruments  de- 
faced,— 
And  great  souls,  at  one  stroke,  may  do  and  doat. 


38 


XXXIII 

ES,  call  me  by  my  pet 
name!  let  me  hear 
The  name  I  used  to  run 
at,  when  a  child, 
From  innocent  play,  and 
leave  the  cowslips  piled, 
To  glance  up  in  some 
face  that  proved  me  dear 
With  the  look  of  its  eyes. 
I  miss  the  clear 
Fond  voices,  which,  being  drawn  and  reconciled 
Into  the  music  of  heaven's  undefiled, 
Call  me  no  longer.  Silence  on  the  bier 
While  I  call  God— call  God !— So  let  thy  mouth 
Be  heir  to  those  who  are  now  exanimate ; 
Gather  the  north  flowers  to  complete  the  south. 
And  catch  the  early  love  up  in  the  late ! 
Yes,  call  me  by  that  name, — and  I,  in  truth, 
With  the  same  heart,  will  answer,  and  not  wait. 


39 


XXXIV 

jgiTH  the  same  heart,  I 
said,  I  *11  answer  thee 
As  those,  when  thou  shalt 
call  me  by  my  name — 
Lo,  the  vain  promise!  Is 
the  same  the  same. 
Perplexed  and  ruffled  by 
life's  strategy  ? 
When  called  before,  I 
told  how  hastily 
I  dropped  my  flowers  or  brake  off  from  a  game, 
To  run  and  answer  with  the  smile  that  came 
At  play  last  moment,  and  went  on  with  me 
Through  my  obedience.  When  I  answer  now, 
I  drop  a  grave  thought, — break  from  solitude ; — 
Yet  still  my  heart  goes  to  thee— ponder  how — 
Not  as  to  a  single  good  but  all  my  good ! 
Lay  thy  hand  on  it,  best  one,  and  allow 
That  no  child's  foot  could  run  fast  as  this  blood. 


40 


XXXV 

F  I  leave  all  for  thee,  wilt 
thou  exchange 
And  be  all  to  me  ?  Shall  I 
never  miss 

Home-talk  and  blessing 
and  the  common  kiss 
That  comes  to  each  in 
turn,  nor  count  it  strange, 
When  I  look  up,  to  drop 
on  a  new  range 
Of  walls  and  floors, — another  home  than  this  ? 
Nay,  wilt  thou  fill  that  place  by  me  which  is 
Filled  by  dead  eyes  too  tender  to  know  change? 
That's  hardest!  If  to  conquer  love  has  tried. 
To  conquer  grief  tries  more, — as  all  things  prove ; 
For  grief  indeed  is  love  and  grief  beside. 
Alas,  I  have  grieved  so  I  am  hard  to  love — 
Yet  love  me — wilt  thou  ?  Open  thine  heart  wide. 
And  fold  within,  the  wet  wings  of  thy  dove. 


41 


XXXVI 

HEN  we  met  first  and 
loved,  I  did  not  build 
Upon  the  event  with 
marble.  Could  it  mean 
To  last,  a  love  set  pendu- 
lous between 
Sorrow  and  sorrow? 
Nay,  I  rather  thrilled. 
Distrusting  every  light 
that  seemed  to  gild 
The  onward  path,  and  feared  to  overlean 
A  finger  even.  And  though  I  have  grown  serene 
And  strong  since  then,  I  think  that  God  has  willed 
A  still  renewable  fear — O  love,  O  troth — 
Lest  these  enclasped  hands  should  never  hold, 
This  mutual  kiss  drop  down  between  us  both 
As  an  unowned  thing,  once  the  lips  being  cold, 
And  Love  be  false !  if  he,  to  keep  one  oath. 
Must  lose  one  joy  by  his  life's  star  foretold. 


42 


XXXVII 

ARDON,  oh,  pardon, 
that  my  soul  should  make 
Of  all  that  strong  divine- 
ness  which  I  know 
For  thine  and  thee,  an 
image  only  so 
Formed  of  the  sand,  and 
fit  to  shift  and  break. 
It  is  that  distant  years 
which  did  not  take 
Thy  sovranty,  recoiling  with  a  blow, 
Have  forced  my  swimming  brain  to  undergo 
Their  doubt  and  dread,  and  blindly  to  forsake 
Thy  purity  of  likeness  and  distort 
Thy  worthiest  love  to  a  worthless  counterfeit: 
As  if  a  shipwrecked  Pagan,  safe  in  port. 
His  guardian  sea-god  to  commemorate. 
Should  set  a  sculptured  porpoise,  gills  a-snort 
And  vibrant  tail,  within  the  temple-gate. 


■i' 


43 


XXXVIII 

IRST  time  he  kissed  me, 
he  but  only  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand 
wherewith  I  write, 
And  ever  since  it  grew 
more  clean  and  white, — 
Slow  to  world  greetings, 
quick  with  its  "  Oh,  list," 
When  the  angels  speak. 
A  ring  of  amethyst 
I  could  not  wear  here  plainer  to  my  sight 
Than  that  first  kiss.  The  second  passed  in  height 
The  first,  and  sought  the  forehead,  and  half 
missed, 

Half  falling  on  the  hair.  O  beyond  meed ! 
That  was  the  chrism  of  love  which  love's  own 
crown. 

With  sanctifying  sweetness,  did  precede. 
The  third  upon  my  lips  was  folded  down 
In  perfect,  purple  state;  since  when,  indeed, 
I  have  been  proud  and  said :  "  My  Love,  my  own." 


44 


XXXIX 

ECAUSE  thou  hast  the 
power  and  own'st  the  grace 
To  look  through  and  be- 
hind this  mask  of  me 
(Against  which  years  have 
beat  thus  blanchingly 
With  their  rains),  and  be- 
hold my  soul's  true  face, 
The  dim  and  dreary  wit- 
ness of  life's  race, — 
Because  thou  hast  the  faith  and  love  to  see, 
Through  that  same  soul's  distracting  lethargy, 
The  patient  angel  waiting  for  his  place 
In  the  new  Heavens, — because  nor  sin  nor  woe, 
Nor  God's  infliction,  nor  death's  neighbourhood. 
Nor  all  which  others  viewing,  turn  to  go. 
Nor  all  which  makes  me  tired  of  all,  self- vie  wed, — 
Nothing  repels  thee, — Dearest,  teach  me  so 
To  pour  out  gratitude,  as  thou  dost,  good ! 


45 


XL 

IH,  yes!  they  love  through 
all  this  world  of  ours ! 
I  will  not  gainsay  love, 
'called  love  forsooth. 
I  have  heard  love  talked 
[in  my  early  youth, 
And  since,  not  so  long 
back  but  that  the  flowers 
jThen  gathered,  smell  still. 
Mussulmans  and  Giaours 
Throw  kerchiefs  at  a  smile,  and  have  no  ruth 
For  any  weeping.  Polypheme's  white  tooth 
Slips  on  the  nut,  if  after  frequent  showers 
The  shell  is  over-smooth;  and  not  so  much 
Will  turn  the  thing  called  love  aside  to  hate, 
Or  else  to  oblivion.  But  thou  art  not  such 
A  lover,  my  Beloved !  thou  canst  wait 
Through  sorrow  and  sickness,  to  bring  souls  to 
touch 
And  think  it  soon  when  others  cry  "  Too  late." 


46 


XLI 

THANK  all  who  have 
loved  me  in  their  hearts, 
With  thanks  and  love  from 
mine.  Deep  thanks  to  all 
Who  paused  a  little  near 
the  prison-wall 
To  hear  my  music  in  its 
louder  parts, 
Ere  they  went  onward, 
each  one  to  the  mart's 
Or  temple's  occupation,  beyond  call. 
But  thou,  who,  in  my  voice's  sink  and  fall 
When  the  sob  took  it,  thy  divinest  Art's 
Own  instrument  didst  drop  down  at  thy  foot. 
To  hearken  what  I  said  between  my  tears, — 
Instruct  me  how  to  thank  thee !  Oh,  to  shoot 
My  soul's  full  meaning  into  future  years. 
That  they  should  lend  it  utterance,  and  salute 
Love  that  endures,  from  Life  that  disappears ! 


47 


XLII 

Y  future  will  not  copy  fair 
my  past  — 

I  wrote  that  once ;  and 
thinking  at  my  side 
My  ministering  life- 
angel  justified 
The  word  by  his  appeal- 
ing look  upcast 
To  the  white  throne  of 
God,  I  turned  at  last, 
And  there,  instead,  saw  thee,  not  unallied 
To  angels  in  thy  soul !  Then  I,  long  tried 
By  natural  ills,  received  the  comfort  fast. 
While  budding,  at  thy  sight,  my  pilgrim's  staff 
Gave  out  green  leaves  with  morning  dews  im- 
pearled 

I  seek  no  copy  now  of  life's  first  half: 
Leave  here  the  pages  with  long  musing  curled, 
And  write  me  new  my  future's  epigraph. 
New  angel  mine,  unhoped  for  in  the  world ! 


48 


XLIII 

OW  do  I  love  thee?  Let 
me  count  the  ways. 
I  love  thee  to  the  depth 
and  breadth  and  height 
My  soul  can  reach,  when 
feeling  out  of  sight 
For  the  ends  of  Being 
and  Ideal  Grace. 
I  love  thee  to  the  level  of 
I  every  day's 
Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candle-light. 
I  love  thee  freely,  as  men  strive  for  Right ; 
I  love  thee  purely,  as  men  turn  from  Praise. 
I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 
In  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's  faith. 
I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 
With  my  lost  saints, — I  love  thee  with  the  breath, 
Smiles,  tears  of  all  my  life! — and,  if  God  choose, 
I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death. 


49 


XLIV 

ELOVED,  thou  hast 
brought  me  many  flowers 
Plucked  in  the  garden, 
all  the  summer  through 
And  winter,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  they  grew 
In  this  close  room,  nor 
missed  the  sun  and  showers. 
So,  in  the  like  name  of 
[that  love  of  ours, 
Take  back  these  thoughts  which  here  unfolded  too. 
And  which  on  warm  and  cold  days  I  withdrew 
From  my  heart's  ground.  Indeed,  those  beds  and 
bowers 

Be  overgrown  with  bitter  weeds  and  rue, 
And  wait  thy  weeding;  yet  here 's  eglantine, 
Here 's  ivy ! — ^take  them,  as  I  used  to  do 
Thy  flowers,  and  keep  them  where  they  shall  not 
pine. 

Instruct  thine  eyes  to  keep  their  colours  true, 
And  tell  thy  soul  their  roots  are  left  in  mine. 


50 


This  edition  of  Mrs.  Browning's  SONNETS 
FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE  consists  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  copies,  printed  for  SMALL, 
MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY,  of  Boston,  by 
the  University  Press  in  Cambridge,  from  the 
plates  of  an  edition  with  ornamental  designs 
by  Bertram  Grosvenor  Goodhue  which  was 
issued,  in  1896,  by  Copeland  and  Day,  as  the 
third  volume  in  their  series  of  English  Love 
Sonnets,  the  original  edition  being  now  out  of 
print. 


51 


#:/.--^^ 


II 


